The Devil Be Damned

by Ali Vali

  Any thoughts of screaming died in her throat, not because of the gun he had pressed to her abdomen but because of the shock of seeing him. It had been years but Johnny’s face was burned in her memory despite the fact that he hadn’t aged well. All her hard work and he’d still caught up with her, but mainly she thought what a fool she’d been not to listen to Remi and her constant lectures about security. The only way she could’ve made it any easier on him was if she’d driven to Sparta and walked through his front door unarmed.

  “Miss me, little girl?” he asked, bringing his other arm around her waist and pulling her closer. His face had that stubble she hated and it scratched her face when he got close to whisper in her ear. “You done run off without saying good-bye, so I had to come a looking for you.”

  “Let me go, Johnny, and you won’t get hurt.”

  He laughed as if what she was saying was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “I don’t think you understand how hard I’ve worked for this little reunion,” he said, prying her phone from her fingers. “You stole from me, and I’m not just talking about that can of money you’re going to work hard to replace.” He scrolled through the numbers in her memory and she was close enough to see where he stopped. “Oh, no, you stole something that was my right.”

  “Take me and I won’t fight you, but leave her alone,” she said, staring at Kristen’s name highlighted and his finger on the Call button. “She doesn’t deserve this.”

  “What you need to do, you dirty whore, is shut up before I lose my temper and shoot you dead on this street. I’ve known where you were the whole time, but the money stopped and I haven’t been able to get in touch with Bob.”

  It seemed surreal that he was carrying on this conversation with her while he held a gun on her and no one was coming out to help her. She was less than a block from her home on one of the most famous streets in the country, and Johnny was going to win. “Bob is no longer in my life.”

  “Good for you,” he said, pressing the button and holding the phone to his ear. “That boy was nothing but a greedy son of a bitch.”

  “If it’s money you’re after, I’ll get you whatever you want. Just leave us alone.”

  “Hello, you,” Kristen said, and Dallas heard the groggy voice since Johnny was holding the phone so close.

  “I want you to listen to me,” Johnny said, his eyes on the front of her house the whole time. “I have Katie Lynn with me, Sue Lee, so don’t do anything stupid like waking that nice big man taking care of the two of you.”

  “Kristen, don’t listen to him. Go get Emil,” she yelled, making him press the gun to her forehead.

  “If you want, I’ll call you Kristen, but no matter what names you two want to go by, believe me when I say that I’ll kill her right here, right now, if you don’t do everything I say. You do that and you can hide behind that animal, but Dallas will be out of your reach whether I’m dead or not.”

  “Don’t hurt her.”

  “That’s not my plan. I’m your father, after all, and all I want is my family back. Now get your ass dressed and get out of that house without company, or like your mama, you ain’t ever going to see Dallas again,” he said, and hung up. “She’ll be out here and then we’ll go.”

  “Johnny, this is your one chance to leave and never look back,” she said, finding the courage to stand up to him from somewhere inside her that had been nurtured by Remi. “You don’t know the extent my lover will go to get me back.”

  “If you’re talking about that bitch that’s been spending an awful lot of nights with you, forget it. She’ll get over you soon enough, just like you will her once you get a taste of what you’ve been missing.”

  This could not be happening to her again, and as soon as she got the chance she was going to smash his head in like Timothy Pritchard’s, with no lifetime of regret. Johnny Moores deserved killing, but she’d have to be patient as she watched the gate open and Kristen step out, looking around. Any curiosity as to how he would get her over to where they were was answered when the girl she’d seen sitting on the steps walked over and held her small purse to Kristen’s side.

  “Nothing fancy, girls,” he said, once the four of them were close together, “or I’ll kill the both of you. I done lived without you all these years.”

  They walked two streets over where Johnny had parked his truck. She felt afraid for the first time when she saw the wooden box in the back with holes drilled in the side. This would be the way they made it back to Sparta, Tennessee, to pay for all her sins.

  “We’re going home.”

  Suddenly Kristen dropped like a rock beside her. Before she could comprehend what was happening, she felt the sudden pain as the butt of Johnny’s gun or something as hard smashed against the back of her neck. She had been happy and anticipated the future only hours ago, and now there was only darkness.

  *

  “I’m telling you, Shelby, we dusted, and all the surfaces are like someone meticulously cleaned and vacuumed before they left. Even the vacuum bag is gone,” the lead agent in charge of the investigation told her.

  She’d landed and gone directly to the funeral home where she’d met her father’s sister, now her only living relative. From that moment until they’d buried her parents with most of the police force present, she’d allowed herself to grieve, but now she had to put that luxury aside. That morning she’d left her hotel with the two agents Annabel had sent with her and driven to the house she’d grown up in. All those happy memories and laughter she’d shared with her folks were hard to conjure up as she walked the crime scene and saw the massive amount of blood.

  “The blood-spatter guy said, from what he sees, your father got to the door first,” he said, pointing to a spot on the wall, then the floor. “Did they often leave the door open?”

  “They must’ve been expecting company, and Mom didn’t believe friends should be kept waiting.” The large dark stain on her grandmother’s rug made her eyes well up with tears. This was her father’s blood and all she had left of him in the physical sense.

  “We found your dad here on his back, which led us to believe he heard the door open and went to see who it was. Our best guess is sawed-off shotgun to the center of his chest,” he said, and she nodded. She hadn’t wanted to see the wounds, but from the reports the hole in his chest had been massive enough that no other weapon could’ve been responsible.

  He walked her to the next room and she saw the fine mist of blood that had stained her mother’s favorite couch. It had been re-covered numerous times throughout her life and she could almost hear her mom’s voice as she read to her while she rested her head in her lap. This had been her life, and now she couldn’t even enjoy the pieces that held so much sentiment because the evil that had come in and taken it all away had tainted them.

  “She must’ve heard the shot and started running in this direction,” he said, pointing to a path that led either to the kitchen or her father’s study.

  He relinquished the lead and followed her to the study, where she opened the top drawer of her father’s desk and pulled out a nine-millimeter pistol, checking the clip that was still full. “She was running in here for something more substantial than a pot,” she said, holding up the gun.

  The bar she’d mentioned to Annabel was close to where her mother had been shot in the back and left to die facedown, and the bottle she’d seen sat right behind the labels she’d seen on the bar all her life. When she stooped to take a better look, it gave her a bit of hope.

  “She couldn’t have been this stupid,” she said to herself.

  “What was that?” the agent asked, looking like he was trying to figure out what had captured her attention. “None of them except the gin and vodka bottles have prints.”

  “Bag the Jameson and try for any DNA along the neck. I’m sure our suspect wasn’t stupid enough to drink directly from the bottle, but you never know,” she said, not able to take her eyes off the open bottle with about a fourth of it miss
ing. It was worth a shot, even if the bottle had the stamps on it that proved it was legal.

  “That won’t be necessary,” a newcomer behind them said.

  The statement made her purse her lips and flare a shot of air through her nose.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned around and came close to following what she’d said with a slap to the woman’s head that was topped with the reddest hair she’d ever seen.

  “I do know what I’m talking about, and I don’t believe in wasting time,” she said, and the second thing she noticed about the woman was that even her lips had freckles. The badge hanging from her jacket pocket displayed a local detective’s credentials, so she’d probably been the one assigned to the case before the FBI moved in, considering whose parents had been killed.

  “I’m sure the person responsible for this left it behind to taunt me,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and standing as tall as she could make herself.

  “Fiona O’Brannigan, ma’am, and I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Your father was one of my closest friends and he was constantly bragging on you,” Fiona said, holding out her hand.

  “How do you know him?”

  “A new program through the department had us matched for the last year. I couldn’t believe my luck when I got the best of the retired guys as a sort of mentor to help me hone my detective skills. For the last year I’ve closed forty percent more of my cases because I’ve used what he taught me instead of waiting for the forensic guys to do the work for me.”

  “He would’ve mentioned that to me if it’s true,” she said, turning and looking at the bottle. Her theory of the crime dissolved in the woman’s last name since what she’d told Annabel was true. To make their friends feel welcomed, her parents always had their favorite drink on hand. It wasn’t a long shot to think that anyone with the last name of O’Brannigan would drink Jameson.

  “I’m not surprised he didn’t. When he told me about your calls and the cases you’re working, he said he didn’t want to waste time talking about what he was doing since it would cut into the time he had with you,” she said, moving closer to the bar and tapping the top of the whiskey bottle with her pen. “I’m not saying Cain Casey didn’t do this, but this bottle is here because of me, not a sick gift to torture you. After a few months of meeting your father at the coffee shop downtown, your mother started inviting me over for dinner. We had a standing date every Wednesday night after I got off shift.”

  “You were here more often than me, then,” she said, cursing inside because of what she’d said. “Do you see anything else out of place?”

  “I’ve walked through here a hundred times already.” Fiona stood in place but turned in a circle. “Whoever did this took nothing and left nothing of themselves behind. Even a somewhat newbie like me can tell you that’s the first sign of a professional hit, but it’s almost too perfect.”

  “That was our first impression too,” the lead agent said. “The only thing the killer left behind was the bodies and buckshot he used,” he said, grimacing when it seemed he realized he was talking about her parents.

  “Either whoever did this was good enough to know what we’d be looking for and cleaned all that away,” Fiona said.

  “Or it was second nature to him because it was a cop trained in crime-scene investigation,” she finished for her. Could that be possible?

  “That’s my first impression,” Fiona said. “Your dad told me once that most times your first impression is the one that turns out to be true.”

  “He taught me that as well. It’s why I thought I had the suspect right when I saw that bottle,” she said, looking from her mother’s blood to the bar. The suddenness of the crime didn’t fit with the meticulous time the killer took afterward. “Do you know who they were expecting?”

  “They had a pretty active social calendar, but I can tell you that it was their off night. It was the only night of the week they watched television and ordered out.”

  “That’s right,” she said, suddenly remembering it was the night she usually called as well, but she hadn’t had the chance.

  “It still fits, though,” the agent said. “The door wasn’t locked and the killer walked in. Your father unlocked it thinking it was their order.”

  Shelby dropped into one of the dining room chairs and rested her head in her hands. Everything she’d thought as an initial reaction was wrong, and she could hear Muriel’s voice telling her how Cain didn’t have anything to do with this. It wasn’t a stretch to think she did, because Cain was just as meticulous as whoever did this, but it could also be someone in law enforcement. If that was true, it made no sense.

  “Do you have any other thoughts after your initial assumption?” she asked Fiona, who’d sat next to her.

  “We all have enemies,” she said, glancing back at the still-visible signs of carnage. “But this doesn’t feel like someone who got out and blamed your dad for a long stretch, or the family member of someone who did time.”

  “How about someone who blames me for turning a family member against her?” she asked softly.

  “That depends if you think they’re capable of this,” she said, pointing to the spot where her mother had died. “Your dad told me a little about Cain Casey, if that’s who you’re thinking about.”

  “And you think you know her well enough to render a judgment on her guilt or innocence?” she asked, and almost laughed at what she saw was Fiona’s inexperience on display.

  “I only know her from what your father said, and his opinion was that we all have our Captain Ahab moments chasing a monster that eludes us no matter how hard we try,” Fiona said, not meeting her eyes, but Shelby believed her. “Cain is that monster you chase but never seem to get the kill shot on, Agent Phillips, but don’t let your prejudice against her blind you enough to not get whoever is responsible for this.”

  “So you know Cain well enough to know she didn’t do this?”

  “Your father’s stories made me curious enough to read about her, but I’m sure you know her better than anyone, so don’t take what I’m about to say the wrong way.”

  What had her father always said about a fresh pair of eyes? Fiona with her shiny new gold badge didn’t care about Cain one way or another, but if she’d been the one to order this, Fiona would surely shoot her on sight as payback for what Cain had taken from her. Sitting beside her was a blue-line kind of cop, and the bastard who’d done this had crossed it.

  “Please go on.”

  “Your agency doesn’t release everything, but from what I read she isn’t the butcher type. She’s a killer, I’m not naïve enough to think otherwise, but she supposedly only kills in response to something or if someone has wronged her.”

  “Wronged her?” she asked, not believing this woman interested her father. “Cain kills almost as a hobby.”

  “Who’s on your list that you believe she’s responsible for but haven’t been able to prove yet?” Fiona asked, sounding a little peeved.

  “The Bracato family, a bunch of drug dealers, her own cousin, and God knows who else,” she said, ticking them off on her fingers.

  “Your dad said she believed the Bracatos killed her father, mother, and brother, am I right?” Fiona asked, and she nodded. “Look at every confirmed kill and see the motivation behind it. She’s a killer but not a butcher who does it for sport.”

  “You make her sound like an avenging angel.”

  Fiona’s short red hair bounced out of place when she shook her head and stood up, apparently realizing she was wasting her breath. “I believe Casey has very few angelic qualities, Agent, but I look at what happened here and I don’t see her hand in it. Because of that I’m afraid the real killer will go free while you chase what you all see as the most logical choice.”

  She turned and walked away from Shelby, stopping at the large stain where her mother died. “And they deserve better than that. I want whoever goes down for this to know why they’re getting the
needle or whatever kills them. Remember that, because the case has been reassigned to you guys, and I’m sure sharing information with me is the last thing that’ll happen.”

  “Wait,” Shelby said, standing up. “You’ve spouted off about who you think didn’t do this, but let’s hear who you think did.”

  “I don’t know yet,” Fiona said, and smiled. “Believe me, I’d bug the hell out of you to send your bloodhounds in that direction.”

  “You didn’t come here just to preach to me everything my dad taught you without a theory, Detective. I’m not that stupid.”

  “It was someone who either has or has had a badge. They left enough behind to tell you it was a professional hit, but the trail ends there. Find the motivation of why that is and you’ll be on the right track.”

  Fiona seemed earnest enough, but there was no reason for her to be right. No one involved in law enforcement would do this. Unless…she sat again because her legs felt like the rest of her, drained of strength at the worst-case possibility.

  “Are you all right?” Fiona asked.

  She stared unseeing at the floor as what Fiona said made her look in another direction. “Did you interview all the neighbors?” she asked, talking fast.

  “Both organizations did,” the agent said. “No one saw anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Define ordinary,” she said, looking up at Fiona.

  “It was late afternoon, not many people out,” she said, sitting next to her again. “This is mostly a retirement neighborhood, so there weren’t any children on the street at the time, and the few people who heard the two shots figured it was someone’s television. The neighbor on the left side said she looked out her kitchen window as she did the dishes, but all she saw was the lawn-service truck parked outside.”